


flower, fruit, and thorn

by malfaisant



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, doppelgangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Mr Segundus’ defense, it was not a particularly menacing wood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this prompt](http://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1273.html?thread=540665#cmt540665) from the **JS &MN kink meme**, which I'm gonna go ahead and out as KIRAN. IT'S KIRAN'S SINFUL PROMPT. so this is for her, I guess.

At the edge of Starecross Hall's grounds, between the main road that led to the village proper and a Faerie road that led to a nameless palace made out of candlelight and the sound of falling snow, was a thick, English wood. The wood led a mostly sleepy existence, a crossroads sort of place that left only the most fleeting of impressions, content to be forgotten, aside from the small, beautiful lake hidden at its centre.

Mr Segundus often passed those woods, whenever he had errands to run in the village, or during longer day trips, such as when Mr Honeyfoot invites him to dinner with his wife and daughters at High-Petergate. During the months when he was attempting to set up the academy, he traveled nearly everyday, visiting the various booksellers in town, meeting with prospective students, and otherwise dealing with whatever logistics were entailed by the establishment of a school. Though his custodianship of the Lady Pole did not afford him much occasion to leave the estate, after the return of English magic (and perhaps more importantly, the mysterious disappearance of Mr Norrell), his duties reverted back from those of a madhouse keeper to schoolmaster once more, and his errands returned two-fold.

It was one day, during such an errand, that Mr Segundus thought he heard a small voice cry out from outside the carriage. He had yelled at the driver to stop, please, with such urgency in his tone that the driver did so almost immediately, and then he stepped out onto the empty dirt road, searching wildly for the source.

“What is the matter, Mr Segundus?” asked the driver.

Segundus turned to face him. “Can you—do you not hear—”  

Part of him mused anxiously that he would be late for his appointment in the village—he was due to meet with a friend of a friend of a niece of Mrs Lennox, who had taken a particular interest in magic in recent years and was eager for the chance at a proper education—but the rest of his attention had been arrested by that voice, that of a boy ten years of age, or perhaps a girl, crying out from the direction of the aforementioned wood.

“Help! Oh, please, please help!”

In Mr Segundus’ defense, it was not a particularly menacing wood—as far as English woods went, it was rather plain and innocuous, mostly comprised of young, innocent birch trees and devoid of threatening brambles, creeping vines, or other such sinister shrubbery. But the lake was another story entirely; its waters were runoffs from neighbouring Faerie, from a snowfall that that had lately occurred, after the Duchess of the nameless palace made out of candlelight and the sound of falling snow had decided to remodel the whole eastern wing. The lake was unnaturally clear, its surface unnaturally still, a perfect mirror if not for the fact that it always reflected a cloudless sky in winter, regardless of any actual sky above it.

The voice cried out again, and Segundus ran into the woods without a second thought, certain only that whoever it was was in terrible danger. As he went farther into the thicket, the voice grew in volume, reaching a level that made Segundus doubt whether it was one child or several, but this did not seem relevant at the time. He pressed onward, threading desperately through the trees, and at one point he imagined hearing another voice call out from behind him, yelling his name, but he dismissed that too as being unimportant, and did not even turn around.

There were other details that, at any other time, would have given Segundus pause, but that he now failed to find interesting. It wasn't that he did not notice, for he observed perfectly well that the air had been growing colder and colder as he went deeper into the trees, that by the time he reached the edge of the lake it was as frigid as the middle of winter. He saw the trees around him completely bare of leaves and the shore lined white with frost. Yet, instead of wondering why his breath was visible in front of him on what had started out as a humid day in June, Segundus only wished he had worn a thicker coat.

“Help! Please help me!” cried the voice. It came, Segundus was absolutely certain, from the very center of the lake. He waded straight into the water, and began to swim towards the voice.

Or at least, he tried to; as soon as the water level reached past his shoulders, he sank like an anchor. The water weighed heavily upon him, grabbing at his clothes and limbs like greedy hands, dragging him deeper and deeper. For a second, he realised he’d made a horrible mistake somewhere, but the voice cried out again, and that odd, imperturbable certainty came over him once more, telling him that the voice came from the bottom of the lake. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision and his lungs screamed for air, but none of it mattered aside from the child crying out for help, the voice now deafeningly loud in his ears—

Segundus gasped as he broke the surface of the water. There was an arm wound around his chest, and the arm, he noted with some surprise, was connected to a person, who was pulling them both towards the shore. As though he were not disconcerted enough already by the whole situation, Segundus realised that it was Childermass.

Childermass blinked the water out of his eyes, and tightened his hold on John Segundus, trying to make certain at every moment that he kept both of their heads above water. He had tossed off his coat before jumping in after Segundus, but there had been no time to remove his riding boots; every stroke felt as though he were swimming through lead, even without Segundus’ prone form as dead weight, so that the distance to shore seemed impossibly far, miles and miles away. The water was viciously cold, like countless needles on his skin.

But the waters soon grew shallower and shallower, until soon enough Childermass was able to find purchase on the lakebed under his feet. When the water was down to his waist, he shifted his hold, and carried Segundus in his arms as they approached the shore.

The endeavour was slightly complicated by the fact that at this point, Segundus had overcome his initial surprise at being rescued, and lost no time in indulging his favourite hobby of being singularly difficult for Childermass to deal with. Segundus was attempting to extract himself from Childermass’ arms, his balled fists thumping weakly against Childermass’ chest, urging to be put down.

“Mr Childermass,” he said, sounding indignant even through his chattering teeth, ”you m-must let me go!”

Childermass frowned, a general portrait of exasperation. “Mr Segundus, if you would please oblige me and keep still—”

“But you do not understand, there is a child—”

They reached the shore, onto solid, mercifully dry earth, and Childermass went on his knees to set Segundus down. Segundus immediately sat upright, but before he could make his escape and put all of Childermass’ hard work to waste by trying to drown himself again, and this time possibly succeeding, Childermass had straddled his knees and leaned over him, and taken Segundus’ face between his hands.

Segundus froze in place, his eyes wide, but Childermass did not see this, as his own were closed in concentration. With his hands cupped gently over Segundus’ ears, Childermass began to murmur a spell of disenchantment under his breath.

There was a low, humming noise in his ears, like the quiet hum of electric current, before—Segundus blinked. The voice was gone, and he could only now notice how dreadfully silent the wood actually was.

“Do you know what you’re about now, Mr Segundus?” asked Childermass, fixing him with a stare. He still held Segundus’ face, and Childermass could not help but make note of the colour high upon his cheeks, the dark curls plastered down upon his forehead.

“I—What are you doing here?” Segundus asked him suspiciously. Childermass took that as answer enough that the schoolmaster had returned to normal.

Childermass stood and looked around the shore for his discarded coat, spotting it a few feet away them. His own clothes were dripping wet, shirtsleeves clinging to his skin and translucent at places. Segundus was in an even sorrier state, now starting to shiver in the cold air, his breath a fog in front of him.

Childermass walked away to recover his coat, and Segundus made to rise to his feet, as though to follow after him. But Segundus’ strength had not yet quite returned; his legs shook beneath him and he fell back to where he had been sitting on the ground with a small ‘ _oomph_ ’.

Childermass walked back to Mr Segundus and draped the coat over his shoulders.

“You,” Segundus started shakily, looking up at him with large eyes, “You did not answer my question.”

“Patience, Mr Segundus,” Childermass replied, and extended a hand forward. “I will explain later. Now come—we must leave these woods at once. It would be quite a waste for you to catch a chill now, after all the trouble we’ve just had trying to keep you from drowning.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was not as though Mr Segundus was unaccustomed to random, inexplicable acts of magic. Starecross Hall was a very magical place, even by northerners’ standards. Magic clung to Starecross like centuries-old perfume; it floated in the air like dust motes in beams of sunlight, sang softly through the drafty hallways of the great house, and clumped at nooks and crannies and the corners of ceilings like cobwebs. Occasionally, there was a mysterious woman who visited Segundus’ dreams, never staying for long aside from idle conversation that he could never quite remember the next day in its entirety, aside from that it was very pleasant, and that she had red hair, and a smile that was all too knowing, and a rich blue gown made out of fragments of the night sky.

(He put a great deal of effort into, and mostly succeeded in, ignoring the probability that the woman was most likely Maria Absalom herself, idling her old haunts, as his humble disposition could not quite accept that sometimes, one of the great Argentine magicians visited him in his sleep for when she was sufficiently bored and fancied a chat, and found him to be amiable company.)

So it came as little surprise to him that the woods at the edge of Starecross Hall’s grounds was enchanted, but he had passed those woods before, quite frequently at that, and they had never seemed to wish him harm until now. Segundus pulled the blanket more tightly about his shoulders, huddling in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea, and generally appeared anxious and slightly sickly. Despite their hurried escape out of the forest and its odd pocket of winter, the cold had seeped deep into his bones, and already he sported a feverish expression.

“I just do not understand why they should’ve wished to drown me,” Segundus said in the main parlour, after Childermass had told him of the spirits in the lake. “Might I have done something to offend them of late?”

The both of them were by now changed and quite dry, but there was a hint of a flush in Segundus’ face, and Childermass himself was down only to his shirtsleeves and breeches, as he did not think to bring with him a spare waistcoat when he came to Starecross. Childermass leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, looking contemplatively at Segundus; mostly buried as he was beneath a thick woolen blanket, Childermass thought he seemed even smaller than usual.

“You should not so readily ascribe it to some fault of your own. Faerie spirits are notorious for their mercurial nature, after all.”

“But I’ve always read—” Segundus paused, “I’ve always been given to believe they are more whimsical than malicious.”

Childermass shrugged. “I would not pretend to know their motivations,” he said, though he could think of any number of them, not the least of which was that such creatures were also notorious for desiring beautiful things, “but malice need not have played into it.”

“You would not say so if you had been made to hear what I heard,” Segundus said sullenly, staring down into his cup of tea. He had described to Childermass the voices in the forest, but Childermass had not heard them—instead the will-o’-the-wisps had appeared to him as hovering circles of light, flitting over the lake’s surface like overgrown fireflies.

There had been similar incidents all over the country ever since the Faerie roads reopened, particularly throughout the North. It was as though three centuries had not passed, as faeries and other such creatures fell back into their old habits of stealing away English men and women; or misplacing artefacts of great magical power in inopportune places; or leading travelers astray, perhaps into enchanted lakes, in the middle of nearby forests.

"They prey on your good will, or whatever else they think would entice you,” Childermass said, and it was not the first time he thought that perhaps Mr Segundus suffered from an excess of good will, but he did not think it wise to say so out loud. “But luckily it was only a lesser enchantment—easy to cast and proportionally easy to dispel.”

“What was the counter-spell you used, if I may ask?”

“A spell to silence lies and quiet deceit, by Ormskirk.”

“Ormskirk? I did not know he had such a spell.”

“He had several; he wrote of them in _Revelations_.”

Segundus blinked at him and looked back down into his cup of tea. “Oh,” was all that Segundus replied, but with such bitterness in the single syllable that he might as well have said, _Not that I would have had occasion to read Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds in the past, or indeed at any point in the future, or any of Ormskirk’s books at all, and I wonder how that should be._

If Childermass had not so recently rescued Segundus, at this point in the conversation they would most likely have been arguing already on the subject of Childermass’ old service. Maybe Childermass would not have needed to trouble himself to rescue Mr Segundus, if Segundus had such resources at his disposal. Maybe it would not have happened at all. How much better prepared they all should be to deal with the return of English magic, if Norrell had not seen fit to hoard magical knowledge like a dragon does a pile of gold, though surely he left the actual fire-breathing to Childermass...

This was an old argument between them, and Childermass was always rather unapologetic; as his actions were all to bring about the return of English magic in the first place, he found it hard to feel sorry for anything. _Everything_ he did was in the service of English magic, and the words were not an excuse, regardless of how his former master may have said the very same.

But if Segundus did not mean to argue, Childermass would not encourage it. Or shouldn’t, anyway.

“As I said, it was only a minor enchantment,” he said, trying to sound placating. Admittedly, he was not very good at it.

“Well, I’m surprised you of all people should know such a spell,” said Segundus unthinkingly, before flinching visibly. Childermass regarded him with one raised eyebrow, though his expression was more impressed than offended.

“Perhaps you ought have some proper rest, Mr Segundus.”

“I apologise,” Segundus said, avoiding his eyes. “That was uncalled for, and I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I'm afraid I cannot help but take out all my frustrations on you, in spite that you’ve so lately saved my life.”

Childermass’ mouth twitched. “There’s no need for apologies. That was an admirable attempt, but you would have to work harder at your barbs before you can insult me.”

"I do not wish to _purposefully_ insult anybody," said Segundus huffily, and for once Childermass was glad for the naturally ironic disposition of his own face, that a fond smile looked much the same as a condescending one.

*

The horseback ride from the forest to Starecross Hall had been largely uneventful. Childermass had insisted it would be faster than the carriage if they both just rode on Brewer, to which Segundus had reluctantly agreed. He sat behind Childermass, his arms around Childermass’ waist, shivering slightly in Childermass’ overcoat, but being damp and miserable had not dissuaded Segundus in continuing to press for an explanation of Childermass’ timely appearance at Starecross.

Childermass had given the flimsy excuse of it being mere coincidence; he was passing through the country when he encountered Segundus’ abandoned carriage. He did not try to sound convincing, which was perhaps what made it very convincing. Segundus eventually dropped the question when it became evident that he was not getting much more of an answer, then resigned to suffering Childermass being his usual vague and frustratingly enigmatic self.

Which suited Childermass quite well, as he did not think there was quite a nonchalant way to say, _I rode all the way out to the country because my cards had informed me you were soon to be in very grave danger._

All in all, Childermass was fine with being suffered.

Soon after their conversation in the parlour, Segundus told him he could take his usual lodgings on the second floor, before making for his own bedroom—he was too tired for dinner. Childermass found the housekeeper and asked her to bring up Mr Segundus’ dinner to his room later that night, “Perhaps some soup to stave off a proper cold,” before making his way out to the garden.

At least, Childermass was a sufficiently regular visitor at Starecross that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for him to actually have business nearby, and was merely choosing not to tell Mr Segundus of it to annoy him. In truth, it wasn't a difficult fiction for Childermass to have been simply passing through. Unlikely, yes, but he did spend an inordinate amount of time travelling nowadays. He’d written to the government and newspapers and whatever could be salvaged of Norrell’s old connections of the need for magical laws and regulations—and surprisingly, they’d been desperate enough to listen to him, shortly after realising he was one of the few people in the country who had a vague notion of what he was doing. Faerie, everyone suddenly realised, made for a very odd neighbour, and so Childermass had been commissioned to, among other things, make barriers against enchanted winds and waters from Faerie; set up signposts so unwitting travelers would not accidentally stumble into Faerie; and provide instruction to other magicians as to how to perform the magic themselves, as many spells of recognition and protection from enchantment as Childermass knew. The rest of his time he dedicated to deciphering Vinculus, pursuing leads and stories, and showing him around the various magical societies of England.

Given his past employment history, Childermass was decidedly not the most popular figure in these circles. Though his connection to Norrell did grant him some prestige, and the return of magic heralded an influx of new magicians to these societies, the older members remembered him as the black-clad portent of doom that had descended upon their company like some overlarge crow. But, recognising Vinculus’ importance to English magic, Mr Segundus had given to helping him arbitrate arrangements with some of them, which was how they became something almost like friends, despite what many considered a rather inauspicious history between the two of them.

Although, that was not to say that Segundus harboured no grudge of his own, because Segundus more than most of the other magicians had cause to resent Childermass' history. Segundus still felt keenly the loss of the library at Hurtfew, and if Mr Norrell had not been such a miser, why, one could only imagine all the advances that could've been made in the field of magical scholarship, while Childermass would contend that such advances were of course merely hypothetical—

Perhaps, Childermass thought as he lit his pipe, _friends_ was not quite the word for it. An amiable antagonism, maybe, because they bickered too much to qualify as friends. But circumstances contrived to keep them in each other’s orbits, until at some point Childermass realised with growing horror that his own mild amusement had somehow turned to genuine fondness for the man. Mr Segundus did not particularly _like_ Childermass, but as for the reverse…

Childermass sighed, took a long drag from his pipe, and blew out a thick cloud of smoke.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning saw Mr Segundus emerge from his bedroom, looking only slightly terrible. He was still very pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but there seemed to be no lingering effects of enchantment, and if the worst aftermath of the incident was a minor cold, well, Segundus should count himself so lucky. He walked to the kitchen, rubbing tiredly at one eye, only to find Childermass already there, eating toast and reading a newspaper.

Segundus paused at the doorway and stared for a moment or two, bewildered. Perhaps it was that he’d come to associate Childermass with the dark, untamed magic of the north, that the image of him doing something as mundane as eating toast just seemed rather unlikely to Segundus. Segundus had half a mind to berate Childermass for not eating his breakfast more mysteriously (it was just like the man to be so incredibly contrary!), before higher faculties of reason stepped in and told him he was being a little absurd. He blinked, gave a halfhearted “good morning” and made for the cup of coffee that had been set on the table with the rest of his breakfast.

Childermass regarded all this with a calm, admirably blank expression. _So_ , Childermass thought, _John Segundus is not a morning person._

“I would’ve thought you would already be on your way to whatever business you have out here in the country,” Segundus said, after several bites of his breakfast, then a little more awake.

"If my presence here is an imposition—”

"No, no," Segundus said hurriedly, "I merely meant to imply that you should feel no obligation to stay longer than you need to. Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to."

Childermass shrugged. “It is not a terribly urgent matter. I’d say your enchanted wood is the more important issue, at this time."

Segundus nodded. “I mean to go out later this afternoon, and put up simple wards of protection,” he said.

“ _You_ mean to go out later this afternoon?” Childermass replied, with a note of incredulity in his voice that made Segundus flush red with indignation.

“Well, I understand that recent events may have given you cause to doubt my competence as a magician, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of performing such a spell."

“It was not my intention to cast aspersions upon your competence as a magician, Mr Segundus,” Childermass said, matching Segundus’ sour expression with a frown of his own, “but might I remind you that it’s not been yet a day since you were nearly drowned.”

“I will not make the same mistakes as before! Besides, the wood is a dangerous hazard to any traveler that goes by that road and it is my responsibility—”

“If you would accept it, I can go deal with the matter myself—”

“I would not! Starecross was put in _my_  care—”

“—but if you insist on going on, then I can _offer_  my assistance,” finished Childermass, an odd contrast of exasperation and firm finality, the clear implication being that Segundus was getting his help whether he accepted it or not.

Segundus stared at Childermass, the expression of vexation on his face making way for bemusement. “If you do not doubt my capability, then why…?”

“No matter how simple the magic, the endeavour still poses a great risk. I would rather your pride be wounded in accepting my help, than tempt anything more grievous,” said Childermass, and the words were too honest by far; he felt a frisson of panic unwind within his chest, as though something was on the verge of unraveling, like the frayed edges of some tapestry.

But the sensation passed, and thankfully all Segundus did was regard him with the same bewildered expression. For a moment, he looked as though he considered contesting the issue further, but Childermass’ words were far too reasonable, and he had saved Segundus’ life too recently, that to argue further would be ungrateful in the extreme.

“I suppose you are right,” Segundus said, after a moment. He stirred a sugar cube into the remnant of his coffee, though it was surely cold by now. ”I did not mean to be...difficult.”

Childermass let himself smirk. “How surprizing indeed.”

Segundus glared at him, but let the comment go unscathed. Instead he said, “Only the lake is enchanted, not the forest.”

“So it was. What was your plan?”

“I was thinking of using the wood as a natural barrier. We could solicit the assistance of the forest in containing the lake’s magical influence. Martin Pale has some prescriptions to that end, as to which trees are most agreeable to this sort of magic—birch is supposed to be particularly obliging, being of easy and wholesome temperament.”

“Some of the trees will have been fed by the waters of the lake, so some of them will not be trustworthy—”

The rest of the morning they spent absorbed in that fashion, discussing the finer points of the magic they were to perform later that day, pointedly ignoring how they almost enjoyed each other’s company.

*

It all went rather according to plan, except for the parts where it decidedly did not. The birch trees were eager to help, but birch was not a particularly cunning sort of wood, especially against the mischievous magic of the lake—water by its very nature was adaptable, insinuating itself through cracks and crevices to whatever ends it may have. Perhaps if the wood been comprised of ash trees, or alder, though the loyalties of ash and alder trees were far more difficult to obtain. Perhaps if the birch wood had been older, with more wisdom and cynicism in their bark and leaves and branches. Perhaps if Childermass had not been so careless as to fail to notice the thin shimmering mist that gathered around their feet as he and Segundus negotiated with the wood, or that it had wrapped around their ankles as they made their way out of the forest.

Subtly, imperceptibly, the mist guided their steps; Segundus would walk in one direction and Childermass in another, and then they would argue which was the correct way, after which one or the other would eventually concede—one would take the lead and get them lost, and then the other would smugly proclaim that he _knew_  they hadn't passed that tree with the twisted trunk after all, and so he would take the lead, only to get them even more lost, after which they would bicker some more. But as the day grew longer, and every path they took grew wilder and the flora more unfamiliar, their arguments were slowly smothered into silence by a mutual growing sense of dread.

Segundus stopped in his tracks as the forest came to a sudden stop, and they came upon a wide expanse of bright silver grass and bushes of red-copper roses. It went on for as far as the they could see, gently rolling hills of silver dotted with flowers, each the size of a man’s fist, brilliant aggressions of colour against the monochrome landscape.

“Well,” Childermass said from behind him, “we aren’t in the forest anymore, but I do not think this is England either.

“How have we—this is not right at all. We have walked far enough east that we should nearly be at the village already,” Segundus said, in equal parts dismay and wonder.

Childermass looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before he said, not unkindly, “You should not look so grim, Mr Segundus. I would’ve thought you’d find an excursion to Faerie to be quite the thing.”

Segundus’ face took on a faintly embarrassed expression. A part of him doubtlessly marveled at the magic all around them, but another part was also incredibly determined that he should not be so excited at the fact that they were very, very lost.

“This was not quite how I envisioned going about it. I do not know about you, Mr Childermass, but I have never been to Faerie before.”

“I have,” Childermass replied simply, remembering the open Faerie road near Hurtfew, and the champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart, “but only once, and very briefly at that. It is not an experience I care to remember.”

After some discussion, Segundus suggested a spell of revelation, but he only knew one form of it, specifically a spell to guide you to your heart’s desire, adapted from Pevensey. It was not exactly what they needed, but as both of their hearts’ desire at the moment comprised of making it back to England in one piece, the spell should lead them safely home, or so he reasoned.

If circumstances were not as dire as they were, Childermass would qualm about using a spell that relied on something as imprecise or unreliable as the heart of the caster, but to continue walking about aimlessly and with no protection from the enchantment that had led them astray would only invite further trouble.

As soon as Segundus and Childermass finished saying the words, a golden thread of light appeared before their feet, dispelling the mist that still trailed about their ankles. The thread traced a path that led them along the perimeter of the forest, before making a sharp turn back into the treeline.

They followed the line carefully as it coursed through the wood, even as it made odd detours of winding, curving paths where a straight line could've been made, or circling around the same tree several times before allowing them to progress. The spell took them through a part of the forest that they had not been before, far removed from the unassuming birch wood they had entered earlier that day. The trees here were older, grander, and presumably native to Faerie, as neither of them could identify the species, with their coal-black bark and sharp leaves the shape of seven-pointed stars, carpeting the ground beneath their feet. A faint wind rustled the leaves every so often, sounding like the faint murmuring of a crowd in the otherwise silent forest.

It was hard not to doubt the efficacy of the spell, given that they had no way of ensuring they were making any sort of progress. They had been walking for several hours, at least insofar as the concept of time functioned in this part of Faerie, which Childermass desperately hoped was as roughly the same as English time as it felt. The glaring flaw in their plan, of course, was that there was no provision in the spell to guide them to their destination in an allotted amount of time, but both Childermass and Segundus knew that already, and chose not to voice it aloud for the simple fact that they did not have many other options. They hoped that the spell registered their heart's desire not only to get home, but to get home quickly.

Then, out of nowhere, the voices started.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dark hair and dark eyes and pale, pale skin, oh, how enticing he looks, how ravishable...! Don’t you want to see all that propriety, that tightly wound composure stripped away? Don’t you want to see him in the dark with his pale skin flushed red and his mouth open as he moans, loud and open and vulnerable, as though he does not care that you see this side of him, that he wants you to see—_

Childermass’ eyes  went wide, and he looked about wildly in alarm. The voice, or voices, came from an indeterminable source, simultaneously reverberating all around them, but also sounding as though someone was speaking right behind him, whispering closely in his ear. It had a distinct incorporeality to it, with the same insinuating quality of smoke, or rather vapor, as though the water in the air started speaking to him.

_In Faerie, it is different. In Faerie, there are no laws. No one would ever know. You can take him if you want, like you want to, and like he wants you to, oh yes, he wants, he wants, he wants—_

“Mr Segundus,” Childermass said, his voice hoarse, “Can you hear…?” he started, before trailing off uncertainly.

“You hear them too?” Segundus asked, turning to face him, looking faintly relieved, which was not the reaction Childermass expected. “It is the same as the voices from last time—a child calling out for help, or several. Oh, they are the most vile, wicked creatures!”

Childermass blinked, before murmuring his quiet assent that all he heard were innocent cries for help as well. He recalled his own words, merely another voice to join the growing chorus come back to haunt him.

_They prey on your good will...or whatever else they think would entice you._

“At least, I do not feel the same compulsion as before,” said Segundus. He looked around for the wisps, as though expecting to see them flitting about them, but if they were nearby, they remained hidden and showed no inclination of revealing themselves anytime soon.

“The spell of revelation has protections against enchantment,” replied Childermass, although he thought bitterly that those protections clearly weren’t strong enough. “A spell of guidance would not be much use if the user could be...distracted.”

“What of Omskirk’s spell?”

Childermass covered his ears with his hands and quickly tried the same spell of disenchantment on himself that he’d used on Segundus, but to no avail. The magic of the wisps were stronger, this deep into Faerie. But as the voices seemed to have no power over their actions other than to cause mild distress, they chose to move onward as opposed to wasting any more time attempting counter-spells, hoping that the protections of the current spell would hold. They followed the thread of light with their new, unwelcome company.

As the voice, or voices, continued their unbroken stream of words, Childermass decided he should rather be resigned than surprised at this development, instead of wasting futile effort in attempting to deny it. Of course, no half-competent spirit would try to tempt him with something so noble as a cry of help, oh no. John Segundus would be lured by a cry for help and, insufferably noble as he was, of course it would work like a charm, but John Childermass’ vices were easier by far, more pedestrian.

Segundus walked in front of him, and Childermass desperately tried to ignore how the voice called attention to his eyes, or his mouth, or his long, delicate fingers, and failed miserably. At least, Segundus was too preoccupied with ignoring voices of his own, that he did not notice Childermass’ discomfiture.

Segundus followed the thread of light as it circled another tree, disappearing briefly behind its trunk. Childermass trailed close behind him, but when Childermass turned around the tree, Segundus was gone.

It was the greatest of ironies that even with all of his attention forcefully focused on Segundus, they still managed to get separated. Childermass felt something not unlike concern grow inside him, a close relative of panic.

“Segundus,” he said, and then louder. “Mr Segundus!”

Childermass looked wildly about him, before catching sight of the thread of light, still shining at his feet. If he wished—the spell should adapt, as the human heart was a changeable thing, and with the current circumstances, the spell should know to lead Childermass to Segundus. He followed the light in a running sprint through the trees.

(It was impossible, he thought, for the spell not to notice how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest.)

All the while, the voices continued unabated. Childermass wondered if this might be part of their spell, but he would worry about his own well-being after he had found Segundus.

Then, something appeared in his path, forcing him to a halt. It floated in the air like an oversized soap bubble, pearly and iridescent, with what looked like a small, blue flame at its center. It hovered expectantly before him, but before he could do more than react, a movement some distance ahead caught his eye, and what he saw made his heart stutter.

The thread of light had led him to a break in the trees. Childermass looked past the hovering bubble to see a figure some ways away, on the other side of the small clearing. It was Segundus, but it was not only Segundus.

Segundus was speaking with a man, a tall, dark figure with large brown eyes, a hooked nose, and lanky hair hair about his face, loosely pulled back in a queue. It wore the same clothes, and the same face, and had the same deep, rasping voice, and there was something terrifyingly off about seeing features he was used to seeing only in mirrors. The doppelganger standing in front of Segundus was the same as Childermass in every way, down to the ironic smile, the ink underneath his fingernails.

Childermass made to shout Segundus’ name and rush to him, to warn him, but his voice became lodged inside his throat and his feet suddenly felt heavy as lead, as though they were fixed to the ground. The sphere floated towards Childermass, coming to a stop just an arm's reach away. It paused there, arresting his attention, before it slowly flew nearer and nearer, until it passed through his clothes and disappeared into his chest.

It felt, for a moment, as though a battering ram had hit him squarely on his sternum. He gasped breathlessly as he was forced back flat against the trunk of a tree, his head still reeling. Struggle as he might, Childermass could not move an inch, as though all of Earth’s gravity was suddenly concentrated to that one tree.

But the magic that confined Childermass did not restrict him from seeing what was going on, or perhaps as would’ve been preferable, prevent him from comprehending what he was seeing. He could only watch as the fake Childermass stood in front of Segundus and, taking his face between his hands, kissed him deeply.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The scene before Childermass had the surreal nature of a dream, a deliberate quality in every motion, almost as though it were all happening underwater. He supposed it must be the magic of the wisps all about them, a suffocating pressure weighing on his shoulders, on his chest, threatening to drown him. Or at least, he hoped it was just that, rather than the possibility that he had sunk to such depths of maudlin as to attribute physical sensation to his emotional distress.

Childermass was not a man given to sentiment, but even he couldn’t deny the surprisingly vicious surge of jealousy that coursed through him, as he watched his doppelganger lay its hands on Segundus. His double ran his hands down Segundus’ torso, wrapping them around his waist, and pulled Segundus flush against him as he kissed hungry, open-mouthed kisses down the line of his jaw, to the exposed bit of skin just above his neckcloth.

Childermass blinked, and watched in amazement as Segundus leaned into the false Childermass’ touch with unmistakable enthusiasm.

There was a distinct flush to Segundus’ face, as though he did not seem to mind being seduced. He did not seem to mind as the false Childermass pushed his coat off his shoulders and untied his neckcloth with rough carelessness. He did not seem to mind at _all_ as the false Childermass kissed and sucked dark bruises onto his skin. Instead, Segundus pulled the other man close to him, hands twisted in the lapels of his coat, his head turned to the side to expose more of his neck to that mouth. They were so closely intertwined that it was difficult to say where Segundus ended and the other Childermass began.

Childermass continued to watch, transfixed, and he could not say for certain if it was the magic that forced him to do so, some sort of compulsion that made it impossible to turn away from the sight, or simply a curious form of self-flagellation.

Time as he experienced it had slowed down to a crawl, and he registered every detail, every excruciating moment of it angrily, shamefully. The dissonance of watching himself with Segundus was dizzying and infuriating in turns, as though Childermass could almost feel the warmth of Segundus’ body against him, the sharpness of his hipbones under his hands as he pushed him up against the trunk of some tree, the soft skin of his throat beneath his teeth. He could imagine it too easily, could imagine all too well, as though it were his fingertips brushing the brocade of Segundus’ waistcoat as he undid each button, his coarse hands hiking up Segundus’ shirt to trace each rib. The phantom sensation of it was so strong that Childermass felt his skin grow uncomfortably hot, his cock half-hard in his breeches. It was a singular form of torture, a viciously personal version of hell that would give Tantalus a run for his money.

_This is a gift, our gift to you, because we were so curious about this man with the kind voice who always passed by our wood, and we knew you were curious too. He always felt it when we were content and when we were melancholy, he is so sensitive to our magic so we wanted to see, we wanted to see how sensitive he was, what his voice would sound like in pain, in ecstasy, what his expression would be like twisted in lust and want, how he tastes, and we knew you wanted to know, you wanted to know too—_

_Don’t touch him, he isn’t yours,_ Childermass thought furiously, _he isn’t yours to take._

The other Childermass had by now stripped Segundus down to his shirtsleeves, pushed half-off his shoulders. There was a dark hunger in the other Childermass’ expression as Segundus twined his fingers in his hair, pulling it out of its queue. Segundus curved his hand around the nape of his neck to pull his mouth back into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as the other Childermass pushed a thigh between his legs, grinding against the front of his breeches.

The doppelganger smiled against Segundus’ mouth, his eyes half-lidded as he darted a glance over to where the real Childermass stood, and Childermass grit his teeth against the savage possessiveness that overtook him, white-hot and blinding, nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

 _We are not taking anything that isn’t being freely given,_  the voices replied simply.

The other Childermass returned his full attention back to Segundus, turning him about to face the tree. He rutted against Segundus' arse and undid his breeches, taking Segundus' cock in hand, quickly setting a maddening pace, teasing, languid strokes that left Segundus barely able to stand. A tongue against his ear left Segundus panting small, trembling breaths, and though Childermass could not hear the words clearly, he could easily imagine the sort of things his double was now whispering, words he himself would say given the chance—oh, how Childermass would praise him, incite him, make him all sorts of filthy, filthy promises, _you are doing so well Mr Segundus, how beautiful you look like this, lewd and wanton and so ready for me, so ready for my cock—_

Segundus groaned, a loud, broken noise wrung painfully from deep within his chest. The other Childermass quickened his strokes, and Segundus thrust shamelessly into that slick grip. He threw his head back, resting against the other Childermass’ shoulder. His one hand reached behind him, tangling in the other Childermass’ hair, while his other hand was pinned against the tree, the other Childermass holding his wrist in a tight, vise-like grip.

_You look so beautiful, so beautiful like this, oh, I would have you ride my cock, I would take you from behind on your hands and knees and you would take only what I give you, you’d take me so well and beg for more, beg for me to stop, beg for release, and I’ll make you come with my prick inside you—_

A veritable litany of “yes, yes, yes” tumbled out of Segundus’ mouth, as though he’d forgotten any word that wasn’t affirmation. The other Childermass brought a hand down to his mouth and pushed two fingers between his lips, muffling his groans. The hand on Segundus’ cock began to stroke even faster.

_—or would you rather have me in your mouth, have your mouth around my cock? Have me fuck your mouth until your throat was raw and your jaw aching? It would look exquisite, your gorgeous red mouth stretched obscenely around my prick, oh, you like the sound of that, don’t you? Tell me more, tell me more of what you want—_

Childermass could not endure much longer, but it seemed as though Segundus was much the same. He sounded close, moaning brokenly around the fingers in his mouth, his eyes shut tight. There was a frantic desperation in his expression that mirrored Childermass’ own, as if he were a string pulled taut to the point of breaking. The other Childermass pulled his fingers out of Segundus mouth and curled it around his neck.

_Won’t you show me? Won’t you come for me? Come for me, come for me—_

It was at that moment, more than any other, that Childermass wished he could turn away. Segundus’ mouth fell open in a breathless gasp as he came, spilling into the other Childermass’ hand, and the open, vulnerable expression on his face was something Childermass was never meant to see. He let out ragged, panting breaths as the other Childermass stroked him through the last of his orgasm, until he trembled against his touch, too much all at once on oversensitised flesh.

Then, without warning, the enchantment broke, and the magic binding Childermass in place was suddenly gone. He fell forward unceremoniously, landing on the ground on his hands and knees, and he was short of breath, as though he’d ran several miles. His clothing stuck uncomfortably to his skin, damp with sweat. For several moments, he let himself close his eyes, so that he saw nothing but black, trying to expel the afterimages that lingered, burned like a brand in his mind. He closed his eyes until he saw nothing but darkness.

When Childermass finally looked up, he saw that the forest around them had returned to normal. The trees were regular birch trees, and where there had been a clearing before, there was now the small, pristine lake. The air smelled like grass and dirt, like an unremarkable summer’s day.

There was no sign of his doppelganger anywhere, or the hovering wisp, or indeed any other living creature in the woods, aside from the two of them. They were entirely alone.

Segundus was where Childermass last saw him, sitting against the tree, a hand over his face as he tried to get his breathing under control. Childermass hesitated, before he slowly got to his feet and walked around the lake towards Segundus, who regarded his approach with a tight-lipped, unreadable expression.

Childermass stopped a few feet away from Segundus, and cleared his throat. “We should leave, before the forest—” he broke off, suddenly uncertain what to say next. Before the forest could molest Segundus further? Before the forest came up with other ways to humiliate them both?

Segundus nodded wordlessly, and Childermass turned away as Segundus attempted to make himself decent. His waistcoat was rumpled and his neckcloth stained with dirt, but with his coat back on they could both almost pretend—and Childermass would pretend, for Segundus’ sake and his own, he would pretend not to see the markings on his throat, the lingering flush on his face. He would not begrudge Segundus anything, would forget in a heartbeat if he could—

Segundus walked briskly in front him, pulling Childermass out of his reverie, and he realised belatedly that the golden thread still shone brightly at their feet. After a second, he followed closely after Segundus, careful to put a certain amount of distance between them, even as the thread of light beckoned him forward.

The rest of the journey they undertook in silence, and they soon reached the edge of the road leading to the village. They left the forest quickly behind them.

 


End file.
